


Hobbits on the Road: Mystic Poops, Onan's Bane, and Extreme Duress of Various Types/ Chapter VI.1

by SugarPlumTimmers



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarPlumTimmers/pseuds/SugarPlumTimmers
Summary: Told with a light-heart and a wink, this story fills in the details about the Hobbit's journey that weren't in the books or movies. It is about the daily trials and tribulations of dealing with a body's functions and its urges, and how the Hobbit lads (and maybe even an elf, dwarf, or man or two as well) deal with the pleasure and pain of doing just that.





	

(Author’s Note: Hobbits on the Road is meant to serve as a supplement to text of LOTR, and fills in some of the details that are often missing in epic stories. The chapter number corresponds to the chapter of the book.)

Chapter VI.1  
Sam Eats the Leaf

The mist hung low over the downs as the sky was lightened high above the travelers. The blue was occasionally broken with purpled clouds as the five hobbits neared the ancient hedge called the High Hay over the fields and hillocks and dales. Merry and Pippin led the way with their ponies, along with Fredegar Bolger, who was journeying with them as far as the border of the Shire. This threesome was cheerful, despite the early hour. However, at Frodo’s request, they kept their conversations quiet. Frodo wanted them to travel as discreetly as possible until they had left their homeland, especially considering the disturbing occurrences of the day before. 

Frodo tromped along behind the younger hobbits. They had all decided to dismount and walk a while, perhaps energized by day breaking somewhere behind the mist. Despite his foreboding and constant feeling of urgency, Frodo’s mood was light that morning as well. It was easy to push shadows away in the pleasantly cool morning, while the damp, spongy earth was underfoot, and the distance yet to travel did not seem so daunting. 

The ringbearer had become lost in his thoughts while he walked, and did not notice that Sam’s pony was leading Sam, instead of the reverse. In fact, Frodo noticed only when the pony started to overtake him and nibble at his ear. Frodo, startled by the beast, turned and saw that Sam was walking almost bent over at the waist, his legs stiffly agait. Frodo waited for him to catch up before addressing him.

“Sam, this beast of yours could have nibbled one of my ears off if it’d had a taste for it. What’s going on? Are you in pain?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, not straightening. “In pain of a sort, you might say.”

“Well, what is it?”

Sam turned his face upward at last and looked at Frodo. “Well, sir, it’s just...I…”

“Sam, are you in pain? Tell me?”

“No...it’s not that...I…”

“Well, what then?”

“Well, I’m just a bit off my schedule you might say.” Sam continued to speak after it seemed certain he had communicated less than he had hoped to through the use of idiom. “That is, to say, we left so early, and had a cold breakfast...and I’ve never been on a trip like this, where, it’s sort of final-like, Mr. Frodo. So I haven’t done my business, so to speak.”

“Ah,” said Frodo, understanding completely. As a young hobbit that had, at one time, been secreted away from Bag-End by Bilbo for an adventure with Elves and Men in Arnor, he knew full well the effects of travelling on a stalled bowel. “Well, lad, we can stop here if you need some time and space to dig a hole.”

“If only, Mr Frodo. Nothing is moving, though there is a fair bit to be moved, if you take my meaning.”

“I do. Rest assured, I will not allow you to remain in this condition.”

“What can be done, Mr. Frodo? I’m afraid the surest thing to set me to rights are several pints of ale and a good night’s rest. But heaven knows how long till we find a pub or a bed again. And I must trudge on till then.”

“Don’t worry, dear Sam. I have traveled with Mr. Bilbo and he has showed me remedies for such a thing. It just so happens that in this part of the Shire grows a plant with properties to help you.”

“Really? I only know about the plants around Hobbiton, and none I’ve heard of make such a boast.”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it in any case, because it is thought of as a useless leaf. But those who know call it bungsfoil.”

“Bungsfoil?”

“Yes. It is a strange name, because it was named by the ancient men that lived in the land beyond the North Farthing’s border. It was once well-known among 

Hobbits, when we were stouter folks, back in the time of the Bandobras the Bullroarer. Its name in Hobbit lore has been lost, according to Bilbo.”

It was about this time that Merry and Pippin, who had been going along with Fredegar and the four ponies for some while, noticed that their companions had not followed them. Furthermore, the stragglers were having what seemed to be a serious conversation while Sam’s pony grazed the shade of a glistening mound. At first Merry and Pippin felt annoyed, and then slightly alarmed. Their pursuit, though unseen, was still a threat, though it did feel vague and far-off. Fredegar, usually the most happy-go-lucky of his hobbit fellows, was neither annoyed or alarmed. He knew he would turn back at the border hedge, and then seemingly be released from the any further arduous work in regards to Frodo’s quest. He was just happy to be out of doors with his mates while time allowed.

“Well, what’s going on there. do you think, Pip?” said Meriadock, in a voice not louder than a murmur.

“Beats me. But I’m concerned. Frodo has been quieter than usual, pensive-like - which is to be expected, I suppose - but he ought to know we shouldn’t stay still here, even if there’s nothing to be seen for miles about,” said Pippin.

“I guess we’d better go find out what they are up to,” said Merry.

“Hold on, lads,“ said Fredegar, as they broke their huddle, “this isn’t my journey, so there’s no need for me to get involved in whatever’s going on with those two. I’m a bit peckish, see, so I’m just as happy to sit here eating my apple” - he produced one from his pocket - “ and I’ll hold the leads of your ponies with the other hand. Those ponies are so agreeable I could almost call them by name and they’d follow.” 

Merry and Pippin agreed to this arrangement and they walked up to their lagging friends. They found Frodo on his knees, running his hands over the ground by some bushes. Sam was nearly doubled at the waist, and groaning quietly to himself.

“This is some way to look out for your master, Sam,” Merry said to Sam sharply.

Frodo, startled, looked up into the faces of the two young hobbits, their faces ruddy with what was already a good walk and the cool air of the morning. 

Sam shot back a reply without hesitation, though his voice betrayed a certain strain. “I knew it was you two coming. I know your footsteps. And the two of us and the pony are in a gutter-like place between two hills, so no one is likely to spy us here.”

Pippin laughed. “You two are a pair. What are you up to down there on the ground, Frodo?”

“I am looking for a plant - an herb I guess.”

“What for?” asked Merry.

Frodo looked momentarily anxious. “Sam...has a certain affliction...and I am looking for this plant that will help...ease...the discomfort.”

“Oh,” Merry said, and then turning towards Sam, “Sorry to be a bit hard just now. I didn’t know you were wounded.”

Sam’s muffled voice came, “I’m not wounded, I...oh, never mind.”

“Frodo, can we help you find the plant? What does it look like?” said Pippin.

“Yes, thanks. The plant is green, with three jagged leaves, but it only has a very short stem, and will be quite close the ground. It can be found in the shade, so may be seen under bushes or trees.”

It was a short time later when Merry returned with the plant that fit Frodo’s descriptions. and Frodo confirmed that it was the correct plant.

“Well, what now,” said Merry cheerfully.

“Well, I, ah, Sam needs to eat the leaves, and then, ah, we...should retire to the other side of the hill.”

“What?” said Pippin.

“Shouldn’t we make a poultice or something? Take some of the supplies off one of the ponies and let Sam ride until the wound has healed?” said Merry.

“The wound?” said Frodo.

“Yes, I thought he had a wound, a wound on his leg or something,”said Merry.

“What?” said Pippin, “I never thought that.”

“Frodo,” said Merry, “you said he was wounded. Didn’t you.”  
“No, I...I said...he was...afflicted.”

“Afflicted by what?” said Pippin with a sudden and intense concern.

“Is he going to be alright? And you let me talk harshly to him!” said Merry.

“It’s nothing to be alarmed about,” said Frodo.

“Afflicted is a strange word, Frodo. Is something,” Pippin continued in a hushed voice, “dark at work in him?”

“In a matter of speaking, but not the way you might think…”

“Great Gandalf! When did this happen, Frodo! What can we do! What can we do!”

“Listen, you two!” It was Sam’s voice, strangely muffled from being pointed downward at the loam, “I just can’t poop, that’s all. I can’t poop and I’m miserable, and I’m not wounded, but this plant is going to help me take a...shit. OK?”

The two young hobbits looked at each other, and then laughed hysterically. 

“Sam, you old housewife, why didn’t you just say so at first? Pippin and I don’t care. I hope  
this weed cures you - I’ve never gone a morning without a decent shit in my life, but all the same, I pity you.”

Frodo scolded them. “Alright, you two, you’ve had your laugh. Now go around the other side of that hill and leave Sam be for a bit.”

“Of course, we will, Frodo,” said Pippin, his eyes full of tears from laughing. “And Sam, for what it’s worth, I hope everything comes out alright...in the end!”

That started the young hobbitts laughing again, but they retreated mercifully. Frodo shook his head, and walked over to where Sam stood hunched over.

“Sam, look at me for a moment.”

“Yes, Mr, Frodo.” Sam’s eyes were bloodshot, and his skin appeared almost grey. 

Frodo took the bungsfoil plant, and tore off two of its three leaves. “Sam, first you must eat these two leaves. They do not taste particularly good, but they are wholesome. After you have chewed them throughly and swallowed them, take your trowel and dig your toilet.” Frodo took the two leaves and placed them in his left hand. Then Frodo tore the remaining leaf, and placed it in Sam’s right hand. “Now with this leaf,” said Frodo, hesitating to be so blunt with his gardener, “wipe your ass completely, only don’t go chasing the shit up your asshole with this leaf. It will sting.”

“Yes, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam mournfully. “I’m sorry...to be holding us up on account of this silly…” 

“Nothing silly about it,” said Frodo with a smile. “And now, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll leave the pony here with you, if that’s alright, since he seems content to graze. Come find us when you’ve finished. We won’t leave without you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Frodo.” And with that, Sam looked down at the leaves in his left hand. He unfolded them and looked at them carefully. “Like nothing I’ve seen before, he muttered to himself. Then he stuffed the jagged fronds in his mouth. At first, it was about as disagreeable as a mouthful of grass, but then a strong licorice taste came to the fore. His torso was still stoppered and ached, while his mouth was full of a tang that reminded him of pine needles and earthworms and tree roots and rotting truffles. He kept on until he had swallowed, but he felt no better. All he wished for was 3 or 4 half-pints to wash the strange taste out of his mouth, and a nap in his own bed and his own bung to take a proper shit in.

But following Frodo’s instructions, Sam took his trowel, which he always kept close to hand, and dug a hole in the grass between two trees. For several minutes, he was distracted from his condition and so felt an urge develop. But as he undid his pants to shit, it became apparent to him, with some disappointment, that he did not have to go after all.

“Well, of all the nuisances...after all that to-do, and now we’re delayed again for nothing!” he exclaimed. The pony that was grazing nearby, lifted its head to look at him quizzically, then went back to eating. 

Sam, desperate to end his discomfort, nausea and shame as soon as could be, was also loathe to face the derision of two, at least, of his companions. Despite the fact he felt the urgency of their journey more keenly than any other save Frodo, he hesitated before climbing over the green mound in front of him to join the others. Sam crouched, his pants still pulled up. Though it made him feel foolish, he hoped that this posture would assist, and that his modesty, as unnecessary as it seemed, would not be the mistake that marked his trouser with a shameful stain. 

Just as Sam decided to stand, button his pants, and lead the pony onward, a strange sensation started just below his stomach. It was as if someone had lit a fire there. It was like a fire that blazed in a fireplace, and served to drive the chill away on a rainy evening. It seemed so friendly and warm. Then the warmth spread around his sides, to his tailbone, to his asshole, then back up through his crotch to his guts, where the warmth turned hot. While the sensation moved around the base of his torso, Sam seemed slowly to comprehend how dead those parts of his body had felt, and how much worry he had stored there. The heat blooming inside his body grew more intense, and he lost track of the outer world, involuntarily swaying from side to side. A ballet of interior motion sprang out of the heat, and Sam knew the shit was going to come out of him almost that instant. Luckily, for him, he had enough presence of mind to slide his pants to his ankles, and straddle the hole he had dug. 

What happened next, Sam could only describe as ecstasy. It wasn’t just that his bowels were moving, it was that the curtains that obscured the divine were drawn apart for a moment, and he was witness to the passing of a holy presence. He understood, as time languorously advanced, how blessed it was to be alive, to be loved by and to love so many, to be in a place he had never been before, taking a shit, his ass cheeks being caressed by damp grasses and chill air, all while the sky above, blue and endless, was filled with the awe-inspiring dance of the clouds. Sam reveled in the scent of his own incense as it wafted up from between his bare thighs, and felt as if he had himself become a flame. Every color in heaven and middle earth shot through his being as he was consumed in the blessed holocaust that bound all living things together in a sacred helix of precious mystery. He was, in those short moments, a hobbit connected profoundly to the deep, abiding magic of nature. He was the fire that chased away cold. 

The tail of the sleek brown snake, having released its stranglehold on Sam’s entrails, slid out of him and came to rest, at last, atop the spiraled monument of its own bulk. Sam let out a guttural moan of untarnished relief and pleasure that emanated, in his loosed imagination, from the rumble of a cataract hidden in the deepest cavern in the world, where one of the Valar still prepared the world anew. 

“By elves and eagles,” Sam said, when he came back to himself. He savored the experience for several moments, but he knew he did not have the luxury to tarry for long. 

Since he was completely voided, Sam tore the remaining leaf in two, and only used one half to wipe his asshole. It was astringent, cleansing and pleasant. Sam tucked away the remainder of the leaf in his jacket pocket, since he meant to keep for future use or study, since he was fond of plant lore. However, as he looked down between his legs at his pants, he saw that a chunk of his excrement must have broken off. It happened to land on the seat of his pants, which had lain on the edge of the toilet hole between his ankles like a flag on windless day. 

At once, Sam was apoplectic, and felt himself plunged back into the tension and discomfort he had just left behind. He could not think of a curse or oath he could say to discharge his frustration, and he feared to move should the stain become set. What should he do? Try to change his pants? No, his spare clothes were packed on the other pony. His mind raced through a thousand different scenarios in an instant. 

“Of all the miserable mornings!” he spat. But the benevolent vision had not left him altogether. He felt a surge of well-being return. As he crouched there, it occured to him, seemingly out of nowhere, that maybe the bit of leaf he hadn’t used could cleanse fabric as well as it cleansed his asshole.  
Sam reached for the trowel, which was laying nearby in the grass. After wiping the dirt from its blade in the grass, he used the point of the tool to carefully nudge the poop chunk off his pants and into the toilet hole. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered that the excrement had landed lightly and was moved easily, and as a result, the residue on his clothes was minimal. 

“Well, I hope this works, at least until I can change. But if not, I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Sam took the remainder of the bungsfoil leaf, and wiped it on the spots on his trousers. He smelt the same pungent licorice aroma as before, and to his amazement, the stains that had marred his pants disappeared almost instantly and were dry. 

“What a magical weed! I shall have to thank Mr. Frodo.” Then without any further delay, Sam pulled up and buttoned his pants, feeling refreshed. He covered the toilet with earth, burying the dead brown snake and the mystical leaves. Sam sheathed his trowel, took the lead of the pony, who had been grazing without interruption, and mounted the hill to join the others. 

As he approached, he saw that his companions were sitting in a semicircle on the grass, the ponies munching on clover around them. The hobbits had obviously enjoyed a second repast, though for Fredegar, it might have his third or fourth. Frodo greeted him.

“Hullo Sam,” said Frodo.

“Yes, hullo Sam,” boomed Fredegar. “Did everything come out alright in the end?”

Merry and Pippin fell into cascades of laughter. Frodo shrugged at him. 

Sam scowled. “Since you’ve asked, yes, it did. Now, let’s be on our way after you schoolgirls are finished giggling.”

Merry and Pippin were ready to move on within several minutes, but not quickly enough for Sam’s comfort. Then, the travelers gathered themselves and the ponies, and took off towards the hedge that loomed not too far off. It was a dark green line that signified the end of the pleasant and familiar lands of the Shire. None knew for certain what lay beyond.


End file.
